


The Priss of '58

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:16:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Cyn start a rocky path to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Priss of '58

Cynthia Powell laid out her art kit on her desk. She placed a piece of paper under all of her supplies, and with her legs crossed under the desk, she drew her attention toward the 

front of the lettering class. She sat towards the back in the center row. Then, a boy who she’d seen many times before on campus strolled in. he wore a leather jacket, tight 

trousers, and a black t-shirt. He walked with a tough guy swagger, and the look he gave suggested to anyone that he was not to be messed with. Cynthia was surprised to see 

him. she knew he was such a typical tough-guy duck boy type, so she wondered why he was even in lettering class. Then, to her horror, he sat right behind her. with a grimace on 

his face, he tapped her on the back asked for a pencil. She handed one to him, looking directly at him, giving him a hard stare, and he softened a little. “Thanks,” he answered, and 

she turned right back around. 

In the days that followed, he asked her for a pencil every day, and so she started bringing extra just for him. she was annoyed that he wasn’t prepared, but somehow, she couldn’t 

say no to him. he’d ask, and she’d just hand it right over, and after a while, she just put it on his desk before he even walked in. he always came in just a couple minutes after he 

was supposed to. the first time she did he asked her, “Is this yours?” 

“I left it for you.”

“Oh…” he seemed taken aback by her kindness. “You can have it back.” she was surprised. She took the pencil back, and put it in her case. When the lesson started, he tapped her 

on the shoulder. “Do you have a pencil?” she gave him an annoyed look. 

“I already gave you one,” she told him. 

“I know…but I like asking.” She handed him one, and then turned around. 

She always wanted to turn around to see what he was doing back there. she always heard scratching on a paper, but knew he never did what he was supposed to. so, finally one 

day, she looked. It was a perverted drawing of the teacher. She giggled, he looked up at her surprised. 

“Something funny?” He asked in an impersonation of his voice. Giggling, she responded, “Nothing, Miss Cromwell.” He laughed too, and then he drew a dialogue bubble over her 

head, saying what he’d said. He quickly drew Cynthia with larger breasts than she had, with the same bubble over her head saying what she said. “Then, shut up!” he hissed, and 

she giggled. Then, he turned his head to the side and gave her a warning look. She crinkled her eyebrows in confusion, and turned around. Their teacher, Miss Cromwell, was 

standing right behind her. 

“Something funny, Miss Powell?” her voice was deep, almost as deep as John’s, and her stare was deadly. Cynthia looked like a deer in the headlights, while John looked confident. 

“Um…um…” she replied nervously. 

“Oh, it was me, sir—Madame, don’t punish Miss Powell,” he replied in a high voice. She snatched the drawing off of his desk, and said, “See me after class. Both of you.” They 

exchanged a worried glance. 

When the class was almost done, Cynthia turned around again. “Are you worried?”

“What’s the worst she could do to you, Miss Powell?”

“You can call me Cynthia, you know,” she replied.

“I’m going to call you Miss Powell. Anyway, Hoylake, you ain’t got nothing to worry about. It’s me she’s got beef with. She just wants a witness or somethin’,” he replied. Hoylake 

was where she was from, and sometimes him, and some of his buddies, called her that. 

“I know, I know,” she insisted. She looked worriedly at the front of the room. “But, you know her. she’s like a dragon. Actually, she’s not like a dragon. She is a dragon. She only 

needs to breath to light a fag,” she continued, and he laughed. She was surprised that she could actually make him laugh. he began to draw their teacher as a dragon, breathing 

fire and everything. In her hand was a scared to death Cynthia, and John stood at the dragon’s feet with a sword (still in leather) and a guitar slung over his breath. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Powell, I’ll save you. As soon as my death blade slices her neck and—“ their teacher was standing over him again. This time he looked like a deer in the 

headlights. 

“Class dismissed,” and everyone cleared out. Cynthia gulped, and looked at John for support. She ordered them to come to the front of the room. 

“What is the matter with you two? Cynthia, don’t encourage him. you’re only making it worse by laughing. And, John, I’m one of the few teachers that tolerates you enough to have 

you in my class, so I expect you to behave better or else I’ll kick out of my class, and out of art school.” she looked at the dragon drawing again. She shook her head, “This is why 

you’re going nowhere.” There was a pause, “Detention both of you. This room, lunch, tomorrow.” 

Walking out of class, John was as cool as ever, but Cynthia was tense. “Aw, don’t be so tense. It’s only detention, Miss Priss,” he told her.

“It’s not that,” she told him. even though it was partially that, “I don’t like the things she said to you.” They had stopped by the water fountain. She was against the wall, and he 

was standing over her. she looked up at him with sad eyes. “She was too harsh.” he shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Powell, I get it all the time,” he answered with a shrug. She shrugged back. 

“I’m sorry, though. it was my fault.” He chuckled.

“Don’t be such a martyr, Hoylake,” he replied. “I knew what I was doing. Like, she said, you are encouraging me. I don’t think that’s much of a crime.” She smiled, “Don’t lose sleep 

over this.”


End file.
